I kiss you, and so, therefore, my self.
I kiss my forehead when I kiss you,
And free the butterflies up
From a bottle of a dream, that is a poem
Of love, when I kiss you,
If and when I kiss you, and in the process
To let you kiss yourself,
From kissing me tender for so long, for so sweet,
From the upper and the lower lip, from the upper
To the lower chest of mine, then yours,
Just to propagate them
As the secret kisses on your thighs, perfumed,
And do what our mouth does to the summer fruits,
While I kiss you to surrendering
Of self, of glory,
Of pride.*

© 2015 J.S.P.